How was I supposed to know. How was anyone supposed to know what would happen. The night they came was like any other, quiet and delightfully boring. You could start to hear a crescendo of tires squealing and people shouting at the top of their lungs. We stepped outside to discover just what was happening. That was when the panic set in.

It almost looked like a tidal wave. Massive, rolling, disgustingly vibrant oozes crashing down the streets and into our homes, folding over themselves infinitely as they smashed through doors and windows. If they get you, it's over; I had seen it happen that night more times than I want to remember. You are pulled in, kicking and screaming, along with anyone else who dares try to help you. After that, the slime just gets bigger. There's nothing left of you to spit back out.

I was one of the lucky ones, if you can still call us that. We managed to get away that night, making mad dashes through chaotic streets, hiding in newly emptied buildings where people had once lived only hours before. I didn't know the people I fled with, nor did they know me, and we didn't take the time to get to know each other. Those precious moments where we felt safe enough to talk, we would turn on the radio or TV instead, anyone who was still broadcasting, hoping to learn some crucial piece of information. Where there any safe spots left? What are these slimes? Is there any way to kill them?

As the days passed, the number of signals dropped rapidly, much like the sounds outside. Instead of car alarms and shouts and the occasional gunshot, all that could be heard was the sickening echo of the ooze spilling over concrete, hunting for anyone, anything still alive. Eventually, it found us too. I pressed up to the barricade of wooden plans over the door as the others secured our exit. The slime wouldn't try to bash the door in, merely pushing back harder and harder until it would finally gave way. It was even seeping through the cracks in the door frame, spilling onto the floor, and my left arm. It burned to the touch, almost like acid. I jerked my arm away and shook off the pink slime, holding the barricade for as long as I could. Eventually the others called for me, and I bolted out of there, hearing the door cave in behind me.

We fled to survive another day, but now it's more of the same. The people on the radio can't tell us anything new. Our food stores are starting to run out as well, meaning we'll have to start sending people out to scavenge. Tensions are running high as arguments spring up over what direction we should go next. But those are the least of our problems.

That burn where the slime touched me left only a small rash on my skin, and it hasn't grown since then. The others don't think anything of it, more concerned with how we will survive tomorrow. But there's something wrong. Maybe it's the stress getting to me, but my gut tells me otherwise, images flashing in my head of all those people I've seen swallowed up in that viscous slime. I've been sitting for hours, clutching the radio in my hands, praying for anyone to come on and tell us something, anything I can use. I must have done inventory on our medical supplies five times now. But I'm no chemist. Even if we had something that could help me, I wouldn't know what it was, or how to make it.

At night I would tell myself it was nothing over and over just to get some sleep. It's all in my head. We are all stressed beyond belief. If I could just rest, maybe this feeling would go away. Yeah, I just need to rest. I don't need to make anyone else more worried than they are. I'll be okay.

I awake in the middle of the night to the sound of my stomach churning. There is a foul taste in the back of my throat. My left arm feels numb, as if I've been sleeping on it for hours. I manage to roll out of bed and stumble toward the bathroom in darkness. With the light on I can see myself in the mirror, but my vision in blurry. It looks like there are bright red veins pulsing out of my head, too vibrant to be blood. The sight begins to shift, almost melting, and I can't tell if it's just my blurry vision, or if what I'm seeing is real.

I try to reach up to my face, only to realize in horror what is happening. My left hand has already melted away, in a puddle of violet ooze on the tiled floor. It doesn't even hurt. The rest of my arm was soon to follow, my flesh turning liquid and falling away. My limbs feel wobbly, unstable, but not from nerves. There is another sickening pink vein pulsating out of my leg, and even travels up to my remaining arm. I want to puke, but nothing comes out. Another look in the mirror confirms it: my skin is starting to melt and shift, an eye threatening to pop out of it's socket.

My hand goes over my mouth, and I dare not scream or call for help. They might run away, or even try to kill me if they see me like this. Maybe I would try to kill them. No, I have to protect them. Maybe I could run outside, get as far away from them as possible, but that's the same as giving up and dying. I can't do that, not after everything I've been through. There has to be something here that I can use.

They won't find me in here. I'll be safe. I can fix this. Maybe this is a dream and I will wake up. There's no danger here. I will wake up and everything will be fine. It's all in my head. Maybe I can pull myself back together. There's still time. I can stop it.

There's still time.

There's still time.

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Kiyn (shark) © Me

Art ©  munks

Go favorite the original here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/38700940/